


Adventures In the World of Literature

by keelywolfe



Category: Journey into Mystery, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Humor, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In the end, it wasn't Loki's fault. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Really. It wasn't. </i></p><p> </p><p>In which we discovered the hazards of unknown books, the dangers of a sleep-over, the poor sense of humor of the demon-kind and it still isn't Loki's fault. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 'The Terrorism Myth' and before The Manchester Gods. Because Daimon came to their aid awfully quickly in Britain, did he not? And hey, everyone can use another adventure.

* * *

In the end, it wasn't Loki's fault. 

Really. It wasn't. 

True, he had been the one to find the book but could one honestly be to blame for that? Blamed for simply finding such a treacherous little piece of literature, hidden amongst others like a scorpion in the rocks. He had hundreds of books, scavenged from the destroyed libraries of fallen Asgard, plucked from archives that had no idea of the treasure they possessed, even borrowed on occasion from one collector or another. Yes, borrowed, he was going to give them back _eventually._

Strike that, back on topic. 

Yes, yes, he'd been the one the find the book and yes, he'd read the words aloud before Ikol could, loudly and frantically, warn him against finishing the Latin bit. And yes, the book had been of an unusual texture, made of tanned human skin Leah had pointed out to him, again far too late. It was a _book_ ; it was supposed to hold information or histories or even a saucy little fable about pirates and their lusty antics, not act as a prison for a nasty demon of the bloody, soul-eating variety. Whoever had taken the time to etch that spell in the vellum pages should really have also added a foreword, perhaps something explaining that one should not read said book, particularly not aloud, unless one wanted to purge it of the demon it held. 

If the writer and spellbinder were surely not centuries dead, Loki would have sent them a strongly worded letter of complaint and urged them to come to clean up the mess their lack of preface had caused. Since that wasn't an option and Loki was, again, cleaning up a mess that wasn't _precisely_ his fault, he found it particularly wonderful bit of luck that he was personally acquainted with a demon hunter, one that not only had a fine hatred of bloody, soul-eating demons but also had the ability to do battle with one of the beasts. 

Bloody, almost-soul-eating battle, true, yet at the end of the day, the nearly-good triumphant most fairly over the definitely-evil and they all kept their equivalent of a soul with minimal damage. 

Mostly minimal. 

"It really wasn't my fault," Loki grumbled, huffing as he helped Daimon limp through the rubble of fallen Asgard, towards his tower. 

"I'm pretty sure all of this was completely your fucking fault," Daimon snarled. The arm that wasn't slung over Loki's shoulder was clutching the glowing trident he used as a weapon. At the moment, it was less weapon and more of a sort of fiery, blazing hell-crutch though Loki supposed a man like Daimon was used to making do with what he had. 

They limped along in a bizarre amalgamation of legs and crutch, the weirdest and worst three-legged race to be seen. Behind them was a purplish trail of demonic blood, all that was left after Daimon had finally lived up to the slaying part of the whole demon hunter profession.

* * *

It had taken the three of them most of the day to chase the beast down. After it had made its disgusting, slavering appearance, taking the time to rampage around Leah's cave before vanishing, Loki and Leah had unanimously put aside their mutual animosity and summoned Daimon. Despite his own case of animosity towards them, or rather, towards Loki, he had arrived with the hastiest of surly haste and had shown some impressive skill at tracking the beast down. 

Unfortunately, the demon's bloody soul-eating talents had included teleporting and whilst they had managed to keep it from the eating souls bit of its repertoire, stopping it from dematerializing had proved to be a more difficult challenge. That left Leah to open portals, Daimon to shoot torrents of hellfire, and Loki to watch their backs, shouting warnings whenever the damned thing was about to get the jump on them. 

What? He couldn't do magic, he had to make do with what skills he had. 

They had finally cornered the beast halfway across the country, its pustulant body crowded into back room of a Starbucks as it crammed its maw with coffee grounds, which weren't bloody souls, true, yet still appeared to be tasty to the demon-kind. It had been Loki's suggestion to sneak in and stab it firmly in the back, what with the whole charging in and facing it head-on failing them now on several accounts and Daimon had agreed with him for once, putting suggestion into action in a fiery thrust of trident. 

Loki wasn't entirely sure why mysterious creatures tended to explode when they perished but it was really quite disgusting. The demon had ruptured like a balloon filled with gelatin, spraying the three of them with ichor. 

Leah, who had already been so drained that she'd allowed Daimon to open a portal back had been less than happy with her one dress being drenched in purple goo and when they had returned to Asgard, she had banished both of them from her cave. It would seem even a bad boy with no shirt wasn't enough of a charm to combat epic levels of gross. Also, Loki couldn't help but notice it stank to the high and low heavens, something he hadn't been able to resist mentioning and probably hadn't helped matters. Honestly, cast out to the elements, dripping with stinking purple demon guts was no way to end an adventure. Leah had no sense of moment. 

Just outside the cave, Daimon had simply folded to the ground, leaning back against a stone with purplish streaks running down his face as he stared blankly. Gingerly, Loki sank to the ground next to him. His clothing was as disgusting as Leah's and he didn't particularly want to touch himself just now. 

"I suppose it wasn't kind of us to leave the mess for the morning manager," Loki ventured. There was a piece of demon clinging to his boot and Loki wrinkled his nose as he picked it off, flinging it away. "I do hope they use gloves."

Privately, he thought they would do better to simply burn the shop to the ground and start again. He should have suggested that before Daimon ported them back; the kindness of an insurance fire would surely have been better than the alternative. 

Daimon said nothing and Loki frowned, squinting at him through the darkness. It was past midnight, he was certain, and they were all exhausted, but usually Daimon had some kind of surly reply. 

"Daimon?" Loki asked. He shifted to his knees in growing alarm, "Are you all right?"

Another long moment of silence and Loki was ready to brave Leah's wrath and drag her out to look at him when Daimon finally sighed heavily, and said, "Just burned out. Fucking nasty thing."

"It was," Loki agreed fervently, more than a little relieved.

"I need a shower," Daimon said, as though he'd only just noticed his fine layer of demon splatter. 

"Yes, bathing sounds like an excellent suggestion," Loki scrambled to his feet. "And thank you again for coming so quickly. Your assistance was timely and…er…" Loki faltered as Daimon still didn't move. He shuffled his feet uncertainly, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Burned out," Daimon repeated, ruefully. He looked up and Loki realized with a jolt that his eyes, which normally burned crimson in a visual demonstration of his demon heritage, were simply blue. "Big and nasty took a lot out of me back there and I used the last I had getting us here."

Loki blinked, and perhaps if he hadn't been so exhausted himself he would have realized sooner. "You're powerless."

The scowl Daimon gave him said just how closely that hit home, "Not powerless, kid, but I'm not going to be opening any portals to anywhere else tonight." He gave a little shrug, the faintest of smiles tipped his mouth up. "Would have recovered faster if I'd gone back to my Hell, but I couldn't just leave you two there for the morning manager to find. And trust me, I do not want either of you to stop by my place for a visit."

"I see," Loki chewed on his lower lip and gave the cave a hopeless look. No, he'd braved enough scary creatures today. Well, he did sort of owe Daimon a favor, even if this was certainly not his fault. Loki sighed, squirmed, and finally offered, reluctantly, "I suppose you could use my bath."

And thus the adventure continued.

* * *

"Why the hell do you live down here anyway?" Daimon grumbled as the two of them staggered through the doorway to his tower. The door was too small for the both of them and Loki was feeling sorely used at this point as he was squashed into the door jamb, the two of them struggling against broken bricks and crumbling mortar until they finally popped through like a cork from a bottle. 

"Could you please be quieter?" Loki hissed, then yelped himself as Daimon reeled to one side, all his weight briefly on Loki's slim shoulders. He held them both up grimly, biting his lip which proved to be a terrible error; if demon blood smelled awful it tasted approximately a hundred times worse. Daimon caught his balance and they resumed their trek. "Quieter," Loki repeated with a huff, "I don't feel the need to explain to anyone why I'm smuggling a bare-chested man into my rooms."

"Oh, buttercup, I'm hurt," Daimon said dryly, grunting as he dragged on. Not all of the blood they were dripping was purple, Loki saw with some alarm, flecks of crimson were starting to show. "If anyone thinks we're headed to your place for anything more than first aid and soap, then either you or every Asgardian out there is a lot more twisted than I would have thought."

"You never met me _before_ ," Loki said glumly and he was surprised by Daimon's coughing laugh. 

"I stand corrected," Daimon panted and Loki thought perhaps he was leaning more of his weight than before. "How is this my life? Other people get to join the Avengers and I get stuck as a guest star with the Scooby gang."

"Karma?" Loki offered and he wasn't sure how Daimon found the strength to slap him in the back of the head, though in truth it was a feeble slap at best. 

The rope was just ahead and Loki helped Daimon to it, the two of them staring up at the hole some distance above them from where it dangled.

"Oh," Loki frowned. "I'd forgotten that."

"You forgot that your room doesn't have a door? Or stairs…who the hell lives in a place that has rope or flight access only?" Daimon groaned, leaning against the wall. "Especially someone who doesn't fly!"

"I live in a place like that and I can access the rope!" Loki said indignantly. "And it's all right, I can carry you up there."

"You—please tell me that's a bad joke."

Loki glared through the darkness at where he suspected Daimon's face was; honestly, he missed the glowing eyes. "It's not and I can. I'm a half-giant and if you can hang on, I can climb it."

He could almost hear the dubious wheels turning in Daimon's head and Loki added his final carrot to the pot, "And the bath is up there."

A heavy sigh and Daimon said, "Hell, why not, we'll give it a try. If we fall, it'll only be a broken leg or two."

"There's the kind of optimism I was hoping for," Loki said brightly, and he took hold of the rope.

* * *

"We are never speaking of this again," Daimon gasped out as he collapsed on the floor of Loki's room. 

"Agreed," Loki panted. One of his legs still dangled in the hole, surely dripping ichor from his boot for him to step in sometime in the future. The demon's blood was both strange and disgusting; aside from the color and stench, it was simply refusing to dry. Loki hoped it wasn't immune to soap. He flopped a hand in the opposite direction, pointing, and mumbled, "The bath is that way."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Daimon told him and didn't move an inch. "I think this stuff is giving me a rash."

A rash? That sounded alarming and Loki touched his face, the only place on him bare and demon-bloody. He didn't _feel_ rashy, but…"Then perhaps you should wash with haste. This is why wearing a shirt would be an excellent addition to your demon fighting skills."

Another weak laugh floated towards him. "Less laundry, though," Daimon pointed out and then there was a rustling sound, a familiar one, and Loki raised his head in alarm to see Daimon stripping off what few clothes he was wearing.

"What are you doing?" Loki yelped, scrambling back as a great deal of bare skin came into sight. 

"I'm not going to shower in my trousers," Daimon pointed out and saying so, kicked said ichor-splattered item aside. Loki sat mutely, eyes saucer-wide, as Daimon limped to the door of the bath. 

Well, that was…that had been…yes.

Loki swallowed hard and waited until he heard the sound of running water before he struggled to sit up and tackle his own boots. He was not thinking of Daimon's naked backside as he did it. 

Really. He wasn't.

* * *

By the time Daimon had come out of the bath, wearing a towel much to Loki's relief, Loki had stripped off everything but his leggings and he had to agree, the demon blood might very well be giving him a rash. At the very least it _itched_ and he all but ran past Daimon and ducked under the water, leggings and all. 

Beneath the hot spill of water and a vigorous application of soap, the purple goo was finally scrubbed away, taking the itch with it. Loki washed his hair twice, scrubbing furiously and even brushed his teeth, washing away every trace of demonic grossness that he could. 

The hot water gave out just as he finished, a stroke of luck that Loki rarely had a chance to appreciate. Though if he were honest, he was lucky to have hot water at all; most Asgardians had moved up into floating Asgardia and Loki had rigged the water heater himself from parts he'd scavenged here and there. He might be happy living without stairs but bathing in cold water was too much to ask of anyone. 

His luck only lasted so far; Daimon had taken the only large towel he had and left Loki to dry himself as best he could with a smaller hand towel. Which also meant he had nothing to wear, damn it to all the Hells and back. 

Well, if Daimon could do it, so could he and Loki lifted his chin, puffed out his chest…and hid himself behind the small towel as well as he could as he crept back out to the main room. 

To his dismay, he saw Daimon was dressed again, his previously gore-coated trousers clean. Loki's tunic was clean as well, folded on his sleeping mat, and his boots were shiny next to it. 

"Feeling a little better then?" Loki asked, trying to ignore Daimon's raised eyebrow at his state and his own blush as he snatched up his sleep shirt and skinned into it as quickly as he could.

Daimon shrugged. "Enough to tidy up a little. I'm still not up to portals."

"I suppose you'll have to spend the night then," Loki grumbled, glancing around his small room with a skeptical eye. There wasn't precisely a lot of room for people here, to sleep or otherwise. It wasn't as though he ever invited anyone over for a visit. 

"You don't have a bed," Daimon pointed out. His feet were bare, Loki noted, and he had one leg drawn up, his elbow resting on it. The other was stretched out as though it still hurt and Loki wondered how long it took a half-demon to heal, if he would have already been healed if he wasn't 'burned out', as he called it.

"If sleeping on the floor is so repugnant to you, you'll have to conjure yourself a bed," Loki said tartly. Considering that Loki didn't even sleep with a blanket, he wasn't about to go scrounging for a mattress now. 

Daimon only gave him a weary sort of grin, "Even if I had the juice, my magic tends to be of the hellfire and brimstone sort, not the Better Homes and Gardens variety."

"Laundry excluded, I assume."

"Blood stains tend to fall in the former category," Daimon yawned, showing a flash of fangs. "And anyway, I can sleep anywhere. I wasn't asking about a bed for me, kid. Why don't you have a bed?"

"Where would I put it?" Loki waved a hand at his room; it was crowded with books, scrolls, mismatched items, scraps and knickknacks. Anything that he thought might be useful at some point he collected and, barring the occasional evil book, most of the time it worked out well for him.

Another lazy, tired grin, "You have a skill at avoiding questions, you know that?"

"I'm not avoiding-"

"Why do you live here?" Daimon cut in, bluntly, and the blue gleam of his eyes was briefly overshadowed with crimson, a hint of returning power. "Why aren't you up in the sky with everyone else? I'm not from around here and even I know Stark finished up months ago. So why are you still on the ground, kid? Didn't they give you a room upstairs? Big brother didn't want to help you pack?"

"I have a room," Loki said stiffly. "And I'll thank you not to talk about my brother."

"Mmmhmm," Daimon hummed. He sounded sleepy, eyelashes drifting down and then rising again, dashing Loki's hopes of an end to this conversation. "No family talk, got it. So why aren't you in your room up in the sky and don’t try to tell me this is just for tonight. I bet you have a bed up there."

"I…" Loki hesitated; if he lied, Daimon would know, and if he told the truth, he'd have to admit that life in Asgard had taught him never to sleep where there wasn't an easy bolt-hole to escape through. As to whether or not he had a bed, Loki honestly didn't know. He'd seen his room in Asgardia once, long enough to know he was never going to sleep in it. Thor had noticed, Loki knew, but never forced the issue and-- 

Daimon gave him a lopsided smile and Loki found he didn't have to say anything at all. 

Instead, the half-demon propped his bare foot up on a stack of books, wiggling his toes. "All right, then, is this the part where we start painting our nails and talk about boys? Because I don't mind a pedicure, but I refuse to start painting my nails black, I get enough Goth jokes as it is."

"I'm on the internet, I know what you're referring to and you are not funny," Loki told him.

"I'm plenty funny," Daimon yawned. "Funny in the head, probably, for dealing with you."

"You see, that's just the sort of humor I mean," Loki retorted, but softly. Daimon seemed to have lost his battle with his eyelashes; they drifted downward again and this time they stayed that way. A moment passed, two, and Daimon's head tipped to the side, his lips parting as he slept. 

Possibly not the most comfortable position but Loki was in no mood to risk his neck by moving him. Only a fool woke a warrior in any other fashion than a good poke with a long stick. 

Instead, Loki curled up on his sleeping mat, eager for a little rest of his own. Daimon would be gone in the morning and this adventure would officially be over.

* * *

It was a dream. The blood spilling over his hands, sickeningly warm crimson, was not real, Loki knew. Perhaps it had been once; perhaps this was a memory, some leftover vestige of his past-self slipping past the veil to torment him. Memory or no, Loki knew that this was a dream and yet, knowing did not make the blood less brilliantly red, it didn't make the corpses clawing at his feet, their hoarse, disembodied voices crying out his name in raw shrieks any less awful and Loki couldn't back away from them. There was no escape from the bloody splatter, no escape, and his own screams burned in his throat like acid, he screamed and still they came and--

"C'mon, kid, wake up!"

Loki tore away from the hands grabbing at him, scrabbling back in an awkward crab-crawl until a pile of books halted his flight. He could taste blood, the iron tang of it sharp in his mouth and already there was cool steel in his hand, a small blade not meant to kill, only to wound, only to give him time to _run_. 

Through the dark was a bright gleam of eyes and Loki blinked, the thunder of his heartbeat in his eyes dying back as he woke up a little more and remembered. The demon. Daimon, who was still crouched next to Loki's sleeping mat, both hands out in wary defense. 

Loki let out a thick sigh, tucking his small knife back into its hiding place. His face was wet and he scrubbed it with the back of his hand. Just a dream, probably brought on by the fight with the demon, and Loki had forgotten to light a lamp before drifting off to sleep. Foolish, that, he knew better, had enough nights of broken sleep. He did it now, turning the flame down low and crawled back to his little sleep mat. Daimon lowered his hands, shifting back on his heels and brightness of his eyes died back; whatever adrenaline rush he'd had apparently still not enough to overcome his exhaustion of the day before.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to wake you up," Loki mumbled wearily. His lip was sore and Loki touched it lightly, wincing as his fingertips came back with a trace of blood. 

Daimon looked at him oddly, mouth turned down in a frown. "You don't need to apologize, kid. Nightmares, yeah?" Loki nodded and Daimon shook his head. "Nightmares I get."

To his surprise, Daimon hooked an arm around his shoulders and gave him a rough hug and only then did Loki realize he was still trembling. Visibly shaking, his hands in tight, knuckle-whitening fists and he took a shuddery breath, leaning into the embrace. The fear-tightness in his gut eased, the crimson-memory fading back, and Loki slowly relaxed, his tremors easing. 

Loki abruptly realized he was practically snuggling into the Daimon's bare chest, which was something Loki wouldn't mind doing to Thor if there were no witnesses but with Daimon the context felt slightly different. He could feel the blush creeping up his face, sharp heat rising. He should move, put some distance between them, that was exactly what he should do, right this moment.

What he shouldn't do was snuggle in closer, press his face against all that bare skin. Heat practically rolled off Daimon, there was nearly a shimmery wall of it around him and Loki wasn't cold, he was never cold but that didn't mean he couldn't bask in the warmth. 

Everyone likes a bad boy, Loki reminded himself, and slowly, carefully, he uncurled one hand from its fist, resting his palm on that warm, bare skin. Beneath his fingertips he could feel the fall and rise of Daimon's chest as he breathed. Daimon shifted restlessly and Loki finally, with great reluctance, let him go. It had been fun while it lasted. 

He never expected warm fingers on his chin, tipping his head up and warmer lips against his own, all hard and wet and, oh, by the Nine, there was tongue involved. It was all awkward and wrong angles and perfect, Loki reached up to grab feverishly at Daimon's hair and Daimon didn't stop him. His mouth was gentle, careful of Loki's bitten lip, his tongue a delicate touch against Loki's own. When he drew away Loki protested softly, tried to catch his mouth again and couldn't.

Daimon's eyes were still oddly blue, looking down at him. He asked, softly, "Why did you call me here?"

Loki wet his lips, tasted the remnants of a kiss, "You're a demon hunter. It was a demon—"

"You have a brother who is a god and owns a magic hammer and who has excellent demon smashing skills of his own. Why did you call me?"

Loki closed his eyes so that he didn't have to see Daimon looking at him, that strange blueness. "You didn't know me. Before."

"No, I didn't," Daimon agreed softly. "I never met you when you weren't…you."

"Everyone else here has. You haven't. Leah hasn't."

"And I just keep coming back here whenever you call, don't I," Daimon whispered and the bitter humor in his voice made Loki wince.

"Of course you do, you're a hero," Loki said, aching rawness in his voice. "And I'm taking advantage of that, I admit it, but—"

"Really? You think I'm that much of a good guy?" He lowered his head and the sudden heat of his mouth was a wet point of pressure at the very base of Loki's throat, his tongue tracing the shallow divot at his collarbone. "You think that's why I keep coming back to you?"

"I…I don't…" Loki stammered and Daimon slid his mouth, hot and wet, up the bare line of Loki's neck. His breath was cool against the wetness, the very edge of his teeth grazing as he moved upward to Loki's ear.

Daimon murmured a breathy whisper of words, "Do I feel like a good guy to you?"

If Loki could speak, the answer would have been yes, a resounding yes; he felt good, felt wonderful, all heavy heat and soft mouth. Speaking, however, was a skill lost to him, words catching in his throat as Daimon settled a hand on his chest, his palm hot through the thinness of Loki's sleep shirt. In one move, he crumbled the fabric in his fist, drawing it upward and tugging it over Loki's head. It left him naked, blue eyes only just tinged with red taking in the sight.

"I'm not a good guy," Daimon lowered his head to whisper it against his chest, tracing a pink nipple with his tongue until it hardened. "I'm not remotely good because if I was, I wouldn't be thinking about fucking you."

Loki gasped aloud, fingers clutching Daimon's head as he bit, gently, licking the tiny wound before drifting to the other side and repeating it, until both his nipples throbbed, hard nubs begging for attention. Only to be neglected as Daimon slid lower, mouthing biting kisses into pale skin as he made his way down. 

"I want to fuck you," Daimon breathed roughly against Loki's belly. "I want you on your knees, little god, I want to hear you screaming my name, until they can hear you up in heavenly little Asgardia. I want them to _know_."

"Yes," Loki blurted, "Yes, I want you to, I want—" He trailed off, whimpering as Daimon pushed him lay back, large hands on Loki's knees as he drew them apart and he shifted to kneel between Loki's slim thighs. 

"Say it," Daimon said, low and harsh. His thumbs were moving slowly, tracing the crease between Loki's hip and his thigh. "If you want it, you can say it."

"I want you…to fuck me," Loki stumbled over it, tasted the words, the idea of it. "Fuck me," he whispered again. He slid his ankles behind Daimon's knees, tugging, pulling, until Daimon obeyed his unspoken desperation and moved over him. Hot, heavy weight of a body against him and Loki groaned aloud. He was hard, achingly so, and Daimon was still in his trousers, cool leather instead of skin against him and it felt stunningly good. 

"Hold still," Daimon said and Loki realized he was moving, pushing his hips up and wriggling in a frantic little writhe, his cock already leaking and sliding wetly against leather trousers.

"Can't," Loki shook his head, whimpering as Daimon tried to pull away, tightening his legs around him, and Daimon was only fumbling at the zipper of his pants, struggling to open them and that Loki could allow. That, he wanted. 

He reached down, trying to help, and only turned it into a mad flurry of fingers until they finally managed it. Between the two of them, they worked them down to his thighs, as far as Loki could manage before the abrupt heat of Daimon's cock against his fingers distracted him.

"Oh," Loki mumbled, wrapping his hands around it. Learned it with palms and fingertips, the length of it, the dampness at the tip, while Daimon huffed out a breath into his hair, burying his face in it with a groan. 

"Fuck, kid," Daimon groaned, loudly, the shift of his hips impatient, and Loki couldn't even mind his diminutive. It was almost like an endearment, some affection that wasn't partially borne from a past life that Loki didn't even remember. In his hand, Daimon's cock felt huge, measured against his palm that had only ever felt his own, and Loki swallowed, hard, considering just where Daimon wanted to put it. It was hard to think just now, Daimon pushed his hand aside and their erections brushed, sliding together as he rewrapped their hands around both and, oh, that felt glorious but it wasn't what Daimon had offered. It wasn't what Loki wanted. 

"I…I have things," Loki blurted, "That we might need." 

Not that he'd bought it for this purpose. Ages ago, when he'd started waking from some of his dreams that hadn't been terrifying shadow memories. It was possible they were still memories, of bare skin and sex, faces he didn't remember and on those mornings he woke hard and aching, wanting something he couldn't recall. 

He'd gone to another town on his own and bought a few items through the self-checkout, well aware that he looked less like an Asgardian god and half-giant and more like a skulking little thug to Midgardians.

It only took a moment to scrabble through the small box near his sleeping mat and Daimon took the little tube, didn't question that it was slightly crumpled and obviously used. He only opened it, slicking his fingers and Loki lay back and spread his legs wide. He closed his eyes, didn't watch Daimon touch him. Feeling it was enough, the slick press into his body of a single finger and it was strange, unfamiliar, Daimon working his finger in as deeply as he could.

One finger became two and Loki whimpered, torn between the harsh bolt of unsettling pleasure it stirred and the pained stretch of it moving in him. The ache faded, slowly, the tightness easing and Daimon twisted his fingers and—oh.

"Ah!" Loki yelped out, slapping his own hand over his mouth to smother it. The bright shock of pleasure was stunning, enough that he didn't feel Daimon shifting until he'd yanked Loki's hand away, letting his cries spill free. 

"Don't you dare," Daimon said, nearly snarled it. "I want to hear you, want to hear everything." He twisted his fingers again and Loki arched off the sleeping mat, his back curved like a bowstring and perhaps Daimon took that as an invitation, lowered his head and the touch of his lips against Loki's erection was almost too much to bear. He nearly came, struggled against the sharp rise of his own pleasure even as Daimon licked him, slicking his tongue up his length. 

"Can't, I can't," Loki stuttered out, yelping again as those fingers abruptly withdrew. The world shifted in a world of movement, Daimon flipping him over. On his knees, as promised, Odin's blood, he needed, _needed_.

Blunt, slippery pressure against him almost before Loki could steady himself and Loki's eyes went wide, watering as Daimon eased into him, pressure fading back and then firming again, until the head finally slipped in with startling abruptness, drawing out a startled, pained yelp. 

"Easy," Daimon whispered, one hand reaching beneath to rub soothingly low on Loki's belly. He pushed in slowly, heeding Loki's soft cries, coaxing his way inside in waves of careful pressure until his hips were against Loki's backside.

Loki was already quivering, shaking with the effort of it, and Daimon was whispering to him softly, kissing apologies against the back of his neck. It hurt, there was no feigning that it didn't, no lie that Loki could weave. A deep soreness inside him, pressed thickly into him and Loki couldn't help moving, a little, trying to ease it somehow. 

"God!" Daimon gasped out. For the briefest moment his hips lurched forward, until he stilled them, dragging in a sharp breath. "Fuck—don't move, don't."

And, oh, _that_ , yes, that. It still hurt, that bright ache was still sharp but the pleasure overrode it, drowning it in a rush of heated wonderment, and Loki bit down on his arm, ignoring Daimon's gasping protests as he pushed back, desperate for more of that. 

"Uh, Jesus, kid!" Daimon ground out. He shifted his hand to Loki's hip, drawing slowly out despite Loki's pleading even as he whispered, "Have it your way."

It was Loki's only warning, the first hard thrust into him jolted him with sensation, a lightning strike of pleasure and it was all Loki could do to simply hold on. Braced his clenched hands against the stone floor and held on. He couldn't move, couldn't push back into each hard thrust, could only let Daimon take him.

"Yes," Loki whined, "Yes, you—Daimon!"

"Fuck, you're tight," Daimon gritted, driving into him, "Fuck, good, you're so—Loki."

His name, bitten out in that thick, deep voice, his name, and Daimon was hunched over him, teeth sharp on the back of Loki's neck, surely leaving marks, biting bruises into him. His hands were firm on Loki's hips, yanking him back into each thrust and Daimon was over him and in him, surrounding him, the deep, perfect slide into him, the smell of their sex surrounding them. The wet, obscene sound of it, it was all so much, too much to take, and when Daimon finally fumbled a hand beneath Loki, hot and slippery around his cock, it was too much. Loki came with a silent cry, mouth open and head thrown back as he spilled over Daimon's fingers. 

Dimly, he could feel Daimon hesitating, pushing deep inside him again with a low groan and Loki could feel him straining, felt the warm liquid pulse as Daimon followed him. His sudden weight was unexpected and Loki's quivering arms gave out, dropping them both roughly to the floor. 

Daimon slipped out of him at the change in position and Loki breathed out a quiet whimper, suddenly empty and aching with it. He found himself abruptly drawn into strong arms, cradling him against a warm, bare chest for the second time that night. This time he had no qualms about snuggling into it and the gentle fingertips stroking his back told him that Daimon didn't mind.

"Shhhh," Daimon hushed him, softly, and Loki realized tears were slipping free, wetting the skin beneath his cheek. "Shhh, it's all right." Soft, nonsense words, and perhaps another time Loki would be offended to be shushed and coddled so. Tonight, he simply folded beneath the unlikely tenderness of Daimon's hands, soothing him to sleep and the tears were dry by the time he drifted off.

* * *

When he woke again the next morning, Loki was nearly smothered by heat and it took him a long moment to realize sometime in the night they had shifted and Daimon was on top of him, his heavy weight pinning Loki to the floor. He managed to squirm away with an effort, biting back a groan at his body's protests. 

Ah, that was _sore_ , deep inside, that was an ache that would linger for days. Not an entirely unpleasant ache, though, and the memory of getting it made Loki squirm in a completely different way. He ignored the warm surge in his blood and instead went to the bath, indulging himself in the renewed hot water. Beneath the pounding spray Loki cataloged his bruises with some bemusement, the finger-shaped ones at his hips and the crescents left by teeth. Not even the fieriest of his dreams had included enough bruises to qualify as a beating. 

His towel was damp-dry and Loki wrapped it around his hips, creeping back out to where his clothes lay. And found Daimon awake, sitting up on the feeble comfort of his sleeping mat. The blue of his eyes was banked once again, overwritten in hellish crimson and somehow the sight of it was not a comfort.

"Ah," Loki bit his lip and then winced at the soreness. Was there anywhere he wasn't bruised? He offered a quiet, "Good morning?"

Daimon's smile was rueful but genuine and something too-tight eased in Loki's chest, "Morning, kid. You okay?"

Blunt, perhaps, but his concern was appreciated. Loki nodded, "I'm fine."

That smile widened, "Good, because you look like the bad end of a car wreck." Daimon reached out a hand, offering, and Loki took it uncertainly, let Daimon draw him down. His mouth was enchantingly tender, brushing over Loki's with care, his large hands smoothing Loki's damp hair away from his face. 

"I should go," Daimon murmured and Loki nodded, reluctantly. He should, this adventure was at an end and yet…"Call me if you need me."

"All right," Loki agreed, softly, the words nearly smothered by another kiss. Harder than before, stinging his bruised lips and Loki only opened to it, let the heat of Daimon's tongue stroke against his own.

"You can call me," Daimon pulled back to whisper it into his mouth, "If you need me." Another soft kiss and he felt Daimon smile, "Or if you don't."

"I…yes, all right," Loki repeated, inanely. A last kiss and Daimon finally stood with a scrape of boots. There was something in his hands and Loki frowned, trying to puzzle out what Daimon was stealing from him. Only Daimon saw him looking and this time his glare held a hint of fire.

"I'm taking the damned book with me," Daimon said, hefting the weight of it and Loki sniffed. As though he wanted the thing; made of human skin? Gross. 

With a flare of fire, Daimon and book vanished, leaving Loki alone with his bruises and his towel. He sat a moment longer, wet hair hanging over his eyes and finally Loki sighed, slipping quickly into his clothes. 

Ikol fluttered in through the gaping roof as Loki stepped into his boots and he didn't comment on the bird's absence the night before. Better the witnesses kept at a minimum, was it not?

"Well, that was an adventure," Loki told him, instead, and Ikol chuffed out a caw, whether in agreement or dismay Loki couldn't say and did not care. Around them were stacks of books, a disarray of scrolls and literature and Loki gave the mess a considering look.

"I wonder what else we have to read," he mused and put words to action, searching through the piles for another book. Whether or not it led to another adventure, well, that remained to be seen. Next time, perhaps, they'd have to call Daimon again and next time it might very well be Loki's fault. 

Really. It might. 

 

-finis-


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a meme: _Imagine your favorite pairing against a wall._
> 
> Yeah, I can do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are other things I am supposed to be writing and today is my day off to write. But I have a migraine and I am cranky so I wrote this instead. Oh, well, a little light porn makes everything better.

He hadn't meant to stay away so long. True, Loki had many things to do, schemes to plan, plots to unravel. He was busy, thank you; his time was at a premium. Still, he _had_ promised to see Daimon, had missed one arranged meeting and then another, until it was near two weeks since they'd last met. It had simply slipped his mind, was all, the greedy urges of his young body put on pause by the very necessary need to save those around him. 

His reminder had come in the form of a surly note that had arrived this morning, appearing at the foot of Loki's sleeping mat in a burst of flames that nearly scorched his bare toes. Loki had beaten out the flames with a handy book and unrolling the ashy, crumpled scroll had revealed sharply worded request for his presence this evening and Loki had no reason to miss it this time. The Nine worlds were as safe as was possible and so was Asgardia, so there was no need to disappoint a third time. Loki had scrawled a reply and his name had barely graced the page before it again exploded into flame and vanished, burning both his pen and his fingers. 

Loki had only sighed, sucking on his scorched fingertips. Demons and their tempers. 

It wasn't as though it was his fault. These things happened, Loki reasoned, even as he stepped through the portal Daimon had provided him. It wasn't as though he felt guilty; he and Daimon weren't precisely dating, it was a matter of convenience and just lately, Loki had not been convenient. 

Portal travel through Leah was a matter of stepping through with ease. Portal travel through Daimon was an awkward experience in brimstone and ash, and Loki coughed out both as he caught his balance, scrubbing his watering eyes with the back of his hand. That had been more unpleasant than normal and Loki wondered if Daimon was getting a little revenge for Loki's less-than-usual availability lately. 

"I suppose that I earned that," Loki coughed out, "But I really-" _Didn't mean it_ , was choked off, the suddenness of arms circling around him from behind startling words into a yelp. Daimon buried his face into Loki's neck and inhaled, deeply. Or at least Loki hoped it was Daimon, his vision was still blurry, though he thought there were few demons out there who would smuggle him out of Asgard in hopes of a sexual encounter. 

Ugh, he _hoped_ there were few; there was a thought he wished he'd never had. A thought that was thankfully derailed by Daimon speaking, reassuring Loki of his presence with a hoarse, "You smell the same."

"I....thank you?" Loki said, a little weakly. Was that good? Not that a response seemed required. Daimon seemed to be content with scenting him, rubbing his nose ticklishly in the crux where Loki's neck met his shoulder and even through his tunic, Daimon's breath was hot, his mouth dampening the fabric as he bit lightly, fangs grazing his skin through the material. 

Oh. Oh, that was—Loki caught his tongue between his teeth, hissing softly, why was it he hadn't made time for this? This was something that should be marked on his calendar in red, only to be neglected for world-ending problems. True, that was probably ninety percent of the issues Loki had faced but surely there were one or two problems that could have waited. 

Waiting for _this_ seemed to be precisely the opposite of what Daimon wished and Loki stumbled as he was abruptly turned, his shoulders caught by hard hands as Daimon walked him backwards to a wall and just pin him against it. Oh, there were walls, Loki had barely noticed where they were, some sort of room crowded with books and papers, lit with a dizzying array of candles with nary a bed in sight. 

Not that Daimon seemed to take issue with that. He simply lifted Loki, who was wide-eyed and startled, from the ground, holding him as Daimon lowered his head the last crucial inch and kissed him, hard, pressing him tight to the wall. Until Loki made a little noise, low in his throat, and opened his mouth to the kiss, to the hot press of a tongue against his own. For precisely the amount of time it took for Daimon haul him up, feet dangling as he was held roughly to the wall. 

"Hey!" Loki yelped, scrabbling to grab at Daimon's shoulders. He had two strong hands beneath his backside holding him up and no ground at all under his feet, and Daimon seemed determined to gnaw bruises into his neck, his mouth hot and wet as it traced a path up to his jaw.

"What do you think you're do---ing!" Loki bit off the last on a gasp, shivering at the sudden hot thrust of a tongue against his ear, the pinch of fangs nipping at the soft lobe. By the Nine, Daimon was trying to eat him alive.

"What I'm doing is fucking you against this wall," he breathed it hotly against Loki's damp ear, his hands flexing, pulling him into push of his hips.

"I…I don't—ah!...don't recall you asking about that in your invitation," Loki wet his lips, closed his eyes as Daimon laughed against his collarbone. Damnable sharp teeth, it was a good thing his shirt had a high collar or there might be awkward questions tomorrow. 

"I'm not asking," Daimon's voice rolled over him darkly and Loki shivered, "I'm telling you, I'm fucking you against this wall. If that's a problem, I suggest you figure out how to stop me fast."

"I...ohhhhh," Loki moaned aloud, slamming his head back against the wall as Daimon hitched him up higher, pressing their groins together. Two layers of clothing hid exactly nothing, certainly not the hard length between his own legs. Stop him? That was a lie he couldn't tell himself, not this night. He'd been hard from the moment Daimon had kissed him. Daimon was grinding against him fiercely, the heat of the friction bordering on painful and Loki could only clutch at Daimon helplessly, caught between him and a wall.

"Missed you, kid," Daimon pushed him hard against the wall and managed to free a hand, yanked hard at the collar of Loki's shirt until the fabric gave with a purring tear. He tore a wide hole in it and any protest Loki might have had over the destruction of his clothes was lost, garbled into a cry as Daimon dipped his head, teeth catching hard on one pink nipple.

"Ah, Daimon!" Loki yelped out, scrabbling to grab at his hair. Desperation bore him out and he tugged hard, then harder when he was ignored. A thin whine rose from Daimon, a faint sound of pain as Loki pulled hard enough to feel strands breaking between his fingers and still Daimon didn't let go, worrying Loki's nipple with his teeth until it was raw, aching point.

Daimon tipped his head back and Loki's grip on that crimson hair went slack. He peered up dazedly at Daimon to see him biting his own lip, eyes closed, his lashes dark crescents against his cheek. His hips slid in a rough rhythm, shoving into Loki, grinding them together and it wasn't enough.

"Odin's blood," Loki gasped out, squirming, dragging his legs up Daimon's thighs and hooking his ankles into the small of his back. Hauling him in tighter and letting the friction burn between them, tangled in together. His clothes are already wrecked and an annoyance, hindering them both and Loki yelped in surprise when Daimon braced him against the wall with one hand in the middle of his chest. Strong, yes, Loki knew that, and he proved it by shredding Loki's remaining clothes, leggings in tatters. Had he the breath, Loki would have made sullen comment on Daimon's treatment, particularly since he only loosened his own trousers and kicked them aside. Breathing was however a requirement for words and Loki was hardly able to do more than pant and moan, writhing as Daimon crowded against him once more, the hot, naked slide of his cock against Loki's strangling something like a sob from the tightness of his throat. 

He tightened his thighs around Daimon's hips, hitching his own upward and the flat plane of Daimon's belly was perfect to ride against, the hot length of his erection a counterpoint against his own. The pressure was glorious and strange, the inhuman heat of Daimon's skin pouring over him like the unyielding desert sun. Loki buried his face against Daimon's collarbone and bit instinctively, tasting the bright iron tang of blood as he came, shaking with the force of it as he rocked desperately against Daimon, dragging out the delirious rush. 

The sound Daimon made close to his ear, raw and aching and frantic, made Loki pulse again, as though Daimon had some special demon power of making an orgasm last an eternity. If so it was the best, the very best, the most very best awesome ability ever and Loki choked off his own whimper into Daimon's mouth as it abruptly covered his own, fangs digging painfully into his lips as Daimon came against him, spilling into the warm, dark place between them where they are both still rutting against each other in helpless little quivers. 

Dimly, Loki noticed that he could taste blood; his own perhaps, Daimon had particularly sharp teeth, or the lingering taste of Daimon's from where Loki had bitten him. Sharp iron taste of it shared between kisses and breaths and it seemed to take Daimon a long time to let Loki slide back down the wall, his wobbly knees vigorously protesting his sudden weight as his feet touched ground. Instead, Loki continued the slide down until he was sitting on the floor, wincing at the chill against his bare skin. He was more naked than not, his clothes sacrificed to the demon standing before him. Or rather, the demon collapsing before him and Daimon was utterly bare, uncaring that the floor was icy. His pants, on the other hand, weren't far away and they were still whole, Loki noted sourly. 

"You are a serious detriment to my wardrobe," Loki mumbled. Hardly the scathing retort he would have liked but right now Loki was grateful to simply be able to form complete sentences. His thoughts were still scattered to the wind, his body still pulsing erratically. Also, Daimon was naked, his belly slickened and shiny with their combined semen and that was something of a distraction. He counted himself lucky to be able to speak at all instead of grunting syllables in the hopes of being understood.

"Send me a bill," Daimon growled. His lips twitched into a near smile, "And next time, don't stay away so long."

Loki looked down at the remnants of his clothes, at the state of their bodies, and managed a weak chuckle, "Your objections to my absence are noted."

A note on the calendar, Loki reminded himself, a dim, mental footnote that was lost as Daimon wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled, dragging him across the floor until he could yank Loki over him, draping his slim body over Daimon's. 

"Oh, are we not finished?" Loki asked with mock innocence, grimacing at the slickness grinding between their bellies.

"You stood me up twice," Daimon mumbled into his throat, teeth grazing, and Loki caught his breath, shivering. 

"Then I shall make it up to you," Loki offered, breathlessly, and yelped as Daimon rolled them both, settling his heavy weight between Loki's legs as he held himself up on his elbows, glaring down at Loki with burning eyes. 

"Yeah, you will." That dark voice rolled over him like a heavy fog and Loki only smiled, wrapped his arms around Daimon's neck, sinking his singed fingers into thick hair and pulled him down for a kiss. 

Yes. Definitely a note on the calendar. 

-fin


End file.
